


JUST DO IT!

by coplins



Series: Packrunners [33]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Knotting, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Pack Bonding, Scents & Smells, Sexual Coercion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 09:25:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16344173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coplins/pseuds/coplins
Summary: Sam's experiencing some heavy bio-compulsion and doesn't know how to deal with having a Patriarch that isn't also his dad. Marlon however, knows very well how to deal with a pack member in his capacity of being Patriarch and is set on resolving the issue between them.





	JUST DO IT!

**Author's Note:**

> Sam's body:
> 
> Here we make quite a jump in time. I'm writing this in the order it popped into my head. For this particular scene, I had originally planned to write it in a three chapter set so you could enjoy the different ways Marlon tackles bonding with his new three Omegas, but as usual, I'm incapable at writing short stories so you get this one as a stand-alone. Next installment we'll be going back in time again, to before they moved in together.
> 
> Sam is somewhat an unreliable narrator here and I hope it shines through in the conversation. Oh, and I haven't forgotten Sam's bamf-side just because the focus is on the opposite here.

* * *

Almost three months. He knew he’d feel a compulsion but this is friggin ridiculous. It started out as a small itch in the back of his head. Like when you’ve forgotten something but know it and it rubs at you. Then the feeling gradually grew until it’s nearly all he can think of as soon as he catches a whiff of the Patriarch, or at any other time for that matter. It’s like his brain is shouting ‘Present! It’s a fucking order!’ at him. Sam isn’t always the best at taking sharply given orders unless the situation calls for it. Like when the neighbour’s barn caught fire. Dad was belting out orders then and that’s okay. It wasn't exactly the time to demand a courteous tone. But this? This is the kind of biological compulsion Charlie says Progs refuse to yield to.

It's not that he dislikes Marlon in any way, or that he doesn't find his scent attractive. Marlon is a handsome man in both looks and scent. He is pleasant and courteous and has definitely joined Sam’s ‘Dean-why-are-you-like-this?’ club. (Not that he’s said it out loud, but some of the expressions Dean lured out of him did.) But Marlon is rarely at home, or when he’s at home he’s in his study working or down in the dojo or gym working out. He goes to bed much later than the rest of them and is usually up before anyone else except sometimes Dick. Sam doesn’t _know_ Marlon. And the worst part is that he still feels nervous around the Patriarch. He can’t seem to get over that part. 

Yet his body doesn’t listen to him. Yesterday when Sam was making a late night sandwich after working in the bar Marlon came into the kitchen and Sam got so slick he could feel it running down his leg. He wasn’t aroused or anything, he just got slick and had to fight the impulse to lean on the kitchen counter, spread his legs and stick his ass out, presenting. The result was him reeking of annoyance and slick. Not even Marlon’s content purring could dispel the irritation. Sam loves Marlon’s purr. Both he and Dean purr their all-is-well almost all the time when they’re at home and it’s one of the best things in the world. He thinks he’d feel at home living in a leaking woodshed with that duo comforting him.

But this constant pull is hounding him.

He’s sitting by the end of one of the long sides of the table in the kitchen. It’s 11:30 AM and he’s been staring unseeingly at the newspaper he’s trying to read for at least twenty minutes thinking about exactly nothing when Marlon enters the room. “Ah, there you are. I suspected you’d be awake by now,” Marlon says.

Sam jerks in startlement. Having a great sense of smell is of no help if you don’t pay attention to the input it gives. “Oh. Hi, Sir. What are you doing here? I mean, um, I thought I was home alone?” Sam flusters. Marlon’s just… he’s always impeccably clad in suits with form-fitting vests and carries himself with grace and power. He feels like he's way above Sam and Sam's always looking up at him, figuratively. The problem is that if Sam's looking up, Marlon must be looking down. That’s something that bothers Sam. He can’t submit to someone whom he feels looks down on him. It’s so friggin stupid because Marlon hasn’t done a single thing to convey that he has any feelings of that sort.

“I took a day off. I wish to speak to you without any distractions. Would you care to have a drink with me?” Marlon says with a small, kindly smile.

“That’s― It’s not even twel―, um. Yes, Sir.” Marlon waits patiently while Sam fumbles through an answer. 

“Wine, perhaps?” Marlon sees Sam’s expression even if Sam tries to hide it. Sam likes wine, but the thought of drinking it now just after breakfast isn’t at all appealing. “No? Cognac then? ...Or mayhap the bootleg whiskey your brother favours?” Marlon hedges, reading Sam like an open book before Sam has a chance to answer. To say Dean prefers moonshine is a gross overstatement, but Dean often starts off by downing a glass of it before moving on to the more high-class spirits that he’ll sip for the taste.

“Yes, thank you.” Sam swallows thickly and fusses with folding the newspaper while Marlon goes to fetch their drinks. He would like to down several drinks before having this talk. Preferably, he’d like to slink back into his room and hide. But the Patriarch took a day off just to talk to him so he can hardly say no. He hates that he can already feel himself leaking slick from the Patriarch’s brief presence.

Marlon comes back with two glasses and a bottle of the worst spirits they have. He pours them a glass each and sits down by the short end of the table beside Sam. He holds up his glass in a toast and after they’ve clinked their glasses together both of them down the content. It burns going down and Sam shivers. Marlon’s whole body shudders, small hairs standing on end on his neck and the back of his hands. He coughs and blinks tears out of his eyes, then grimaces. “You two boys must surely enjoy getting punched in the gut from the inside a whole lot more than I do,” he says with a pained chuckle, yet still reaches out to give them a refill.

It might be the most uncontrolled reaction Sam’s ever seen from Marlon. He sniggers. “Yes, Sir.”

Marlon smiles and leans back in his chair with one hand rested on the table holding his glass. He’s sitting with his side towards the table, facing Sam with his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles alongside Sam’s chair. “So. You have a big day coming up next week. Are you nervous?”

College. Is he nervous? Of course, he is. “A little? Honestly, I’m more excited than nervous.”

“As you should be. College demands a lot of self-discipline to study, something I’m convinced you have after seeing you tear into our library with such vigor. But college is also a time to make new friends that will last you a lifetime if you’re lucky. It’s a time of growth and finding yourself. Learning independence, making mistakes and revel. I’m sure you will enjoy yourself.”

“Yes, Sir,” Sam answers with a shy smile and looks down at his glass, twirling it between his hands.

Marlon hums thoughtfully in a very Lucifer-like way. “Are you cross at Michael for pulling strings so you can move into the Omega House directly at arrival?”

Sam’s head snaps up. “What? No! I’m not mad at him. Have I seemed mad at him?” he asks worriedly.

Marlon’s lips quirk upward in the corners. “Not at all, son. But the decision, albeit well-meaning, was made for you by him. You’re very conscious of not hurting the feelings of your mates which overall is a good thing but may at times lead to you going along with things you don’t want. This summer there’s been a lot of talk about you going to college and what you should and shouldn’t do when you’re there. The voice I’ve heard the least in these discussions, is yours. So I wonder, do you want to move straight into the Omega House? Perhaps you’d rather live at home? Or maybe you’d prefer to live in the dorms and work your way up to an invite by imparting respect in your peers and gaining notoriety, like Richard?”

"Do you think I should do that, Sir?”

A hint of annoyance enters Marlon's scent even if it doesn't show in his body language. “Certainly not. I think you should move into the Omega House right away as is befitting your station so people know how to treat you from the get-go. But this isn't about me, son. It's your choice, which is the point I'm trying to make.”

"But I've never been to college so how can I know what suits me best?”

Marlon inclines his head briefly to admit Sam's got a point. “Very well. Just remember that if the current arrangements do not agree with you, you can always move later. Nothing is ever set in stone.”

Sam huffs with a self-deprecating smile. “Thanks. But I don’t think it will really matter where I live. They’ll think me a country bumpkin either way based on my clothes.”

Marlon chuckles. “That’s your own prejudice talking. To start with, there’s nothing wrong with coming from the country. You’re polite and pleasant to be around which will matter more when you’re making new friends. I also need to say that the clothing of your choice will not affect your presumed status more than you let it. Even if it is… plaid.” Marlon sips his drink without shuddering this time. “At no point in time has anyone questioned my sons’ station based on their appearance. Except, perhaps, me. Like that Juvie period when Gabe and Luci were in a contest of who could have the most garish hairdo. They took an hour each morning just to get their hair done. Mohawks, horns, the gods know what else. They have both had every conceivable colour. The same goes for clothes. Have the boys not shown you photos from their college years?”

Sam shakes his head with interest sparkling in his eyes so Marlon bids him to wait and goes to fetch a photo album, treating Sam to a fun hour of looking at pictures. Most have been taken by Luci since apparently photography had been a hobby of his. Lots of candids both from home and school. Most pictures of Luci are selfies with him smirking lazily while holding the camera from above. Preciously few of those are of him wearing a shirt. (Though he did seem to have a favourite feather boa.) Apparently, his favourite pair of jeans were so ripped they showed more skin than jeans. Dick’s in several pictures too, although he’s never looking at the camera. He’s always looking at Mike, the two of them always engrossed in discussion or caught in a moment flirting. There’s a stunning, blond woman in some pictures with Mike too. It’s Kate, Mike’s Prog college sweetheart that ditched him and went AWOL. There are fewer photos of Raff and Gabe from college but none of them enjoyed taking photos the same way Luci did.

“...Is that…? Is that a tie?” Sam asks looking at the last photo of Luci. It’s a selfie taken in a lecture hall. Luci is wearing an open zip-up hoodie, no T-shirt, and presumably a tie as a headband.

“Yes,” Marlon sighs. “I had asked him to wear a tie for once. And he did. Rhetorics is everything, son.”

“And yet you still tell Gabe to change ties,” Sam points out with a smirk. He’s on his third drink and is slightly buzzed and comfortable, while he’s soaked through Luci’s sweatpants with the slick he’s leaking. 

“I do. But you got to understand that he never wears the same tie twice,” Marlon says with amusement lacing his voice and gives Sam a wink.

Sam laughs. Figures even the Patriarch is as curious as everyone else about what tie Gabe will put on next. Sam’s seen 13 ties this far. Amongst them, one shock-orange covered in sparkly sequins and another one with blinking lights that played ‘twinkle twinkle little star’ like those musical cards. By the end of the day, the batteries were wearing out making it sound utterly horrifying.

Marlon closes the album and pushes it away. “I want to talk to you about your jealousy issue.”

Sam’s nerves return. “Wh― Look. I don’t have a jealousy issue. I did a bit in the beginning, but it went away. It doesn’t feel like any one of them will change their mind about mating me so I don’t feel I have to be jealous? I mean, like Luci when he goes on business trips. He’s alone and I get that he doesn’t want to be and I don’t want him to be I want him to be happy so I’m okay with him hooking up with oth― Oh. Did you mean if they’re jealous? They’re not. I’ve talked with all of them about this,” he babbles in defense.

Marlon has tilted his head looking at him with a fond smile. “My sons are all various degrees of jealous. From Gabe that will cheer you on and be proud when you hook up with someone even if he isn’t there, to Raff’s indifference, and Mike’s ambivalence about sharing outside of the pack. I’m afraid my Luci boy has inherited my unhealthy levels of possessiveness, but he’s aware of it and knows better than to act on it.”

“Luci’s not jealous. He’s even given me tips on how to best flirt.”

“Luci wants to lock you up in his room rather than let you flit off to college, Sam,” Marlon says with amusement twinkling in his eyes normally so icy eyes. “He knows that would be a gross transgression from his part so he’s overcompensating in the other direction. But that’s not the jealousy I want to talk to you about. No, what I want to discuss is Dean and Richard.” He reaches for his glass to take a sip, looking at Sam over the rim.

“I’m not―” Sam starts to protest feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Marlon lifts an eyebrow and Sam falls quiet without finishing the lie. He looks away and takes a gulp of his whiskey, barely feeling the burn. His Patriarch put him on the spot. Now’s not the time to lie. “Yeah, okay. But it seems Dean’s strictly into Dick now,” he mutters.

Marlon rumbles a small chuckle at the unintentional pun. He and Dean definitely have the crappiest humour in the whole pack. “Dean is certainly infatuated with Dick but it doesn’t stop his favourite pastime from being telling us stories about all your virtues and accomplishments.”

“I know. I know, okay? I’m sorry. It’s just that. I don’t know…”

“You feel left out even when they welcome you, they’re developing a special rapport more quickly than you and Richard are doing, their concerns are different than yours, and Dean who has always treated you as if you’re the center of his universe suddenly leave you to your own devices. This is how you feel, correct?”

Sam hangs his head and nods. “I’m sorry.”

Marlon’s hand comes to rest on his, making him look up. “It’s not something you need to apologise for. It’s how you feel.”

“But it’s stupid,” Sam complains. “I don’t understand it. I love Dick. He’s, he’s great. And I’m not jealous when it comes to the others, you know? Like Luci and Dick. They have these intensely intimate and private moments and when I happen to see them like that I fill up with joy and fuzzy feelings, like, like I’m in love with them being in love, right?” He gestures his frustration while he speaks. “And when Dick was in Heat and Raff smelled him for the first time, that was hilarious. I’ve literally seen a guy take a falling tree to the head looking less stunned. It was great! And when Dean’s with any of your sons I don’t feel anything that can be construed as remotely jealous. It doesn’t make sense and I’ve tried to hide it. I didn’t know I was being obvious about it.”

“You aren’t unless someone is looking for it,” Marlon soothes. “It makes perfect sense for you to feel like this even though there’s no need. You know how pack members are recruited to most packs outside of crisis times?”

“Um. Yeah, you like someone that you feel would bring something to the pack you invite them to join?”

“Oversimplification, but true in a roundabout way. When you have someone you have great chemistry with you spend a lot of time with that person, then you introduce them to the rest of the pack, next you invite them home. All this before you’ve even started forging a bond. It’s a courtship period that often lasts for months up to a year. Naturally, in some packs, it’s done differently. You’ll find that predatory packs that rely on intimidation and fear will instead have people finding them asking to join.”

“Like the Hales?” Sam hedges.

“Mhm,” Marlon agrees. “And in times of crisis like during the war, you’d find decimated packs banding together, picking up strays along the way, barely exchanging a word with each other before bonding.”

“Like Dick’s Europeans, or like our pack back home.”

“Exactly like that. But normally, a new pack member is added in stages. Wasn’t your pack expanded by your father’s new mate and her son?”

“Yeah.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but first you smelled them on your father for a while, then you got to meet them at a neutral place, then they were invited home to you, and a while after that their scents changed?”

“Exactly like that,” Sam says with a smile. “One day when I came home they were there and they suddenly smelled like they belonged.” He’d really loved getting a little brother and he misses Adam. Since he got his phone he calls home two or three times a month and he always ends up speaking with Adam for at least an hour after speaking with dad and Bobby.

“That was the courtship period. Forging a bond before that is normally only done while sniping a member from another pack or forcing someone to join. For Richard and Dean, it started out backwards. They bonded while their friendship was just in its infancy and then circumstances forced Richard to choose far earlier than the natural course would bid. What Dean is doing now is the missing courtship. Richard needs it more than you think, from Dean in particular. Richard’s greatest traumas in life were caused by a Main and one simply doesn’t get over something like that with a flick of a wrist. Dean, in his capacity of a Main, is showing him that Malicia’s behaviour isn’t an example of all Mains. If you give them a couple of more months you’ll see that Dean will be back to his normal self, concerning you. And should you feel truly set aside, wanting more alone-time with Dean, simply tell him? He’s in the process of trying to give you the independence befitting an adult. Finding the balance when letting go of a parental role isn’t easy. He might be giving you more space than you need or want, purely in an attempt to respect you.”

Sam hadn’t thought of any of that. It’s making him feel a lot better about the situation. He’s hated himself for feeling like he does, trying to swallow the feelings down. It’s not like he himself hadn’t been spending a lot of time with Dick. Dick had a lot of patience for his endless questions, sitting with him in the library answering questions about this and that he’d read about, recommending other things for him to read, giving him study tips as well as discussing open-ended topics. And Dean _did_ spend time with him. Not as much as before, but then again it’s not like he himself had that much time to spare either, working part-time, having four mates. But putting it all in perspective helps. “Thank you, Sir.”

Marlon inclines his head briefly. “Anytime, son. If you ever have something weighing on you, you’re always welcome to bring your problem to me. No matter how trivial or stupid you may think it is, if it’s a heavy burden for you we’ll see what we can do to lighten it. Even if I appear busy working, my pack is always my first priority.”

Sam gives him a grateful smile. “I will. Thanks.”

Marlon takes a sip of his drink, or maybe he just wets his lips with it, he hasn’t been drinking in the same pace Sam has. It doesn’t bother Sam the way it does Dean and Dick. Working at the bar he’s seen his fair share of people acting like complete asses when they’re drunk, and he can respect the choice to control one’s actions especially if one knows from the start that one has a penchant for being an idiot intoxicated as Marlon has admitted to. The silence stretches while Marlon watches him from under heavy eyelids. His eyes, a glacial blue by default cold, has that over-intelligent gleam where you can see the clockwork-brain always ticking but not figure out what data it’s currently processing. Sam tries not to squirm under the scrutiny.

“There’s another thing I want to address today,” Marlon says and reaches out to tap lightly with a finger on Sam’s neck just below the ear gland. “Can I…?”

Sam leans forward and offers his neck. Marlon puts his glass aside and leans in to rub the tip of his nose against Sam’s ear gland while scenting. It’s all it takes for every friggin gland on Sam’s body to start to overproduce secretion. His legs fall open without a conscious thought and he shifts his hips. His body screams ‘ _DOIT!DOIT!DOIT!_ ’ at him. Marlon deep-purrs. It causes a physical shiver and every hair to stand on end. It makes Sam so friggin angry that he reacts this way. Like he’s under a spell of someone else controlling his body but not his mind.

Marlon abruptly stops purring and leans back to retake his glass. “This is why I want to address this before you go off to college. The pull you’re feeling, I’m feeling it too. It’s not a problem I can’t handle but it’s driving you to distraction. Chances are, if we do nothing about it and you leave, it won’t go away with the separation, rather, your body will misconstrue it for rejection and add a mild depression to the pull.”

That would be ten times worse. “You’re feeling it too?” Sam asks in surprise. That makes him feel horrible. Suffering yourself is one thing, putting someone else through the same thing is another. It's ridiculous. They should get it over with. He's let strangers knot him without qualms before. He's even presented to a guy on a bus without as much as a hello.

Marlon chuckles. “Of course. You don’t think I always walk around half erect, do you?” 

Sam throws a look at Marlon’s pants to see that he’s indeed tenting them. “But you don’t smell aroused?”

“Neither do you. Still, yesterday when I came in to get a cup of tea I wanted nothing more than to fist your hair, push you down on the counter and mount you on the spot.”

“So why didn’t you?” Sam asks almost grumpily.

“Aside from the fact that you almost growled at me to keep my distance?” Marlon chuckles. "Trust is the adhesive keeping a pack together and I don't have yours."

“That’s not true! I trust you, Sir,” Sam protests feeling almost insulted.

Marlon raises an eyebrow, a little smirk curling his lips. There’s no warmth or humour in his eyes this time. “Is that so? Is that why you avoid being alone with me in a room? Why you tense up when I talk to you and reek of ill-temper when we do happen to be alone together? Why you try to figure out what answer you think I want to hear the most when I ask you something rather than giving your own opinion?”

Sam opens his mouth to answer, then shuts it again, cheeks burning crimson at the callout.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Samuel. I do enjoy that you call me ‘Sir’. I’d prefer if it was out of actual respect―respect I have undoubtedly earned in my lifetime―rather than out of fear of judgement, but I’ll take what I’m given. I wish to know you. I don’t wish to know how well you can adapt to my wishes. I’m here to assure you have all the comforts you need, physical and emotional, not the other way around. But I can’t help you if you don’t let me. Which circles us back to our exigency. You don’t want me to knot you and it’s disturbing your peace of mind.”

Sam shifts uncomfortably, grateful that they’re alone at home. He doesn’t want anyone else to see him put on the spot like this. “It’s not that I don’t want you to knot me, Sir. It’s mostly that I hate this, this, coercive force inside of me. It’s not you I get annoyed at. I get annoyed at my body. Like right now. I’ve soaked my friggin pants just from you sitting there. Or, like with Luci. We got mated our first night together and I hated it. Not because I didn’t want him for a mate. I’ve been crazy about him since first whiff. It was because I wasn’t asked about it, you know?” he tries to explain.

Marlon nods. “My Charles was the same. He hated the bio-compulsion Aiden represented, not Aiden himself. Is it courting you need? I’ll court you properly if you just let me. But we’re running out of time if we’re to resolve this before you leave for college. Lest you want me to come there to court you. I find the notion highly inappropriate, but I will, if you need that from me?”

“No. I―” Sam doesn’t know what he needs. He knows Marlon’s deep-purr causes his body to act up with triple force and he hates that so he definitely doesn’t want Marlon to court him the normal way.

“There are alternatives. If it all makes you too uncomfortable we can do it with one of your mates knotting you while you siphon me. The body will be fooled that proper bonding sex has occurred.”

That would be like admitting defeat. What kind of loser would need their mate to do their job for them? Sam crosses his arms over his chest and looks at his lap while trying to think up a response.

Marlon misinterprets him. “Or you and I can siphon each other as many times as possible before you leave. This takes longer but will set the bond properly as well. Raphael might be the next Patriarch and by that time we might have females in the pack. He won’t be able to knot them but that doesn’t mean he can’t set their bond. It will cause a lot intenser frustration and urgency every time a siphoning occurs, but it will do the job.”

“I thought you had to knot me?”

Marlon shakes his head. “No. We generally say it’s a must because of that bio-compulsion you’re experiencing right now, but it isn’t. It’s simply the easiest way. Most Packrunners don’t have that level of integrity as you and my Charles. Nor are most people strong-willed enough to even want to resist for as long as you’ve done.”

It’s a compliment but it feels like an accusation. Sam presses his lips together and averts his face with a small frown. He’s feeling the alcohol which makes it hard to find the right words or thoughts to express what he feels about this.

Once again Marlon jumps to the wrong conclusion. He sips his drink and looks at the glass. “Or… we do nothing. You leave for college, the feeling will grow stronger, then you’ll feel rejected, get a bit depressed, and after a couple of months the body will get over it and it will all fade. The bio-compulsion won’t return unless you challenge Dean’s position or I start courting you. Which I won’t unless you expressly ask me to. Nature isn’t without reason. In big packs, only the core members experience this compulsion to be with the Main and Patriarch to set their bonds. The ones just outside that core will feel a compulsion to be with at least one core member, and so it trickles down through the ranks.”

Sam faintly remembers dad explaining something like this too, but that was when Sam was a Juvie thinking he’d present as an Alpha so he hadn’t paid enough attention. To him, it hadn’t been important since he hadn’t reached sexual maturity and presumed he’d live all his life in the small Winchester pack. “Will you feel rejected too, Sir?” he asks. He’s been so preoccupied fretting over feeling a compulsion to be with someone whether he wants to or not that it never occurred to him that a Patriarch would be left with the same lack of choice. Especially since he’s seeing Dean as a Main set an example, basically hollering ‘woot, woot!’ enthusiastically at every knew knot he gets to take. But that’s different, isn’t it? Not because Dean’s a Main, but because Dean is a ‘hedonistic sonnova bitch’ to use his own words, who considers every shift of emotions caused by his hormones part of his personality. Dean would equal any bio-compulsion with a want to do something. Marlon, however, has shown no sign of having a hedonistic side. As far as Sam knows Marlon too might not actually want to do it. That changes things. A lot.

“What I feel is of no import.”

“It is to me!” Sam snaps from frustration. He scowls meeting Marlon’s gaze, feeling his eyes flaring hotly and his teeth aching their request to drop fangs. His own vehemence takes him by surprise yet he holds steady, doesn’t take it back or apologise. Marlon blinks in startlement at his barked response but otherwise remains as unflappable as ever. Not even his scent give away any significant emotions.

Marlon’s quiet as if he’s considering his reply carefully while holding Sam’s gaze. After a drawn-out moment, he answers. “Yes.”

That settles it. “Then knot me.”

* * *

Marlon’s fully naked. Not a single stitch or adornment, unlike when he sleeps with Dean or Dick and keeps his watch or necklace on. He’d even ruffled his hair before he sat down on the bed and bid Sam to stand between his legs. His hands had been gentle as they trailed up and down Sam’s sides, finding their way in under the T-shirt and his gaze never left Sam’s face. He’d started to deep-purr which had caused irritation to blossom unbidden in Sam’s chest so Marlon stopped purring instantly. ‘I think it’s best if you ride me, Sam.’

So Marlon’s naked on his back with Sam on top now. His hands resting passively on Sam’s thighs while Sam rides him with grinding motions. He smells of arousal but not strongly and far underneath that―so faint Sam’s not sure if he really smells it or if he’s projecting―a hint of sadness. Marlon is a dominant man. It’s part of his personality not just a requirement for his position as a Patriarch. Yet here he is, having removed every trace of outward dominance or force on Sam’s behalf. Anything that can even remotely be construed as control is gone. Even the hair is part of that. Sam appreciates it. He does. But he's reminded what Marlon told him. ‘ _I wanted nothing more than to fist your hair, push you down on the counter and mount you on the spot._ ’ That's the very opposite of this. Why should Sam be the only one enjoying this if they both experience the compulsion? And maybe Marlon is as particular about enthusiastic consent as his sons are? It makes sense, he raised them after all. Sam wouldn’t be too happy if he had to have sex with someone he thought didn’t really want it either.

He lays down to lick at the glistening secretion on Marlon's throat happy to note that the scent of arousal gets thicker. Sam loathes the compulsion, yes, but it's the lack of choice, not the man that does it. He wants to give Marlon a token of gratitude for offering all the choices to get out of it. It's hard since he knows so little about the man. What he has to go on is a self-proclaimed unhealthy level of possessiveness and a like of being called 'Sir’. He'll make it work.

“Sir?" Sam breathes by Marlon's ear. “Sir, _please_."

“What is it?"

“Dig your fingers in. Fuck me. Own me, Sir. Lock me down on your knot, _please_ ,” Sam begs. It’s the right thing to say. They are the magic words that turn Marlon into the great lover Dick's always claimed he is, making the scent of arousal thicken while eradicating the hint of sadness when Marlon does as bid and lets his feral side take over.

Afterwards when the knot’s gone down, siphon high, blissful and post-coital, Sam lies curled up like the little spoon wondering why the hell he resisted, to begin with. He can smell a hint of change to his own scent just at the edge of what he can consciously perceive. Only Luci will be able to note the difference. The pull he’d felt is gone, but he knows he won’t have any qualms about letting Marlon knot him again in the future. “I think you’re a good Patriarch,” he declares drowsily, thinking back on the day.

Marlon rumbles a content chuckle against the skin between his shoulder blades. “Thank you, Sam.”

Sam’s brows draw together in concern. “But I’m not so sure you’re good at being just a man.”

Marlon’s laugh is genuine and draws a delighted purr out of Sam. “Having a house full of frolicking Omegas is waking up the memory of what it is to be a man as well,” Marlon assures him with laughter still in his voice.

A thought hits Sam. “As a Patriarch, you feel the compulsion to knot the Main too, and vice versa?”

“Stronger than with any other pack member. But it’s the same there. Once the bond is affirmed the compulsion goes away and a new knotting isn’t necessary more than once a year to reaffirm it.”

“I guess you and Dean are saving up a decade’s worth then,” Sam mutters with a smirk. Dean and Marlon fuck in private, locking the door to the bedroom. It doesn’t hinder sound or scent from escaping, though. Marlon sniggers silently behind him smelling pretty smug about it. “Do you think Dean experienced this pull to be with dad?” Sam asks. It’s the thought that hit him.

“I know he did. By my guess, it was a lot stronger than between you and me considering how strong the love between them already was and how long they remained coupled as a Main and his Patriarch. Even more so since your brother has admitted a lack of want to resist, only refraining due to convention and the risk of inbreeding.” Marlon supports himself on an elbow to hang over Sam’s shoulder so he can look at his face. He’s smiling warmly, flare low-intense and prettily pinkish purple. “When the gods made the Winchester line they mixed a great dose of self-discipline, determination, grit, resolve, willpower, tenacity, and topped it all off with a chunk of brattiness.”

Sam smirks teething his canines and purrs as Marlon’s smile gets bigger, smoothing out all the worry lines on his sex-ruddy face only to replace them with laugh lines crinkling the side of his eyes - the man behind the mask. “As it should be. Sir.”

It makes Sam think. Dean stayed for years after he’d come out of his depression. When he talks about his feelings for dad he waves it off with a ‘Maybe I felt a bit more than I should for him, but we don’t talk about that.’ If Marlon’s right, that is downplaying it to the extreme. 

Sam wonders how much really went on under his nose that he missed on behalf of being a Juvie when it happened….

* * *


End file.
